Rocky Mountain Redemption

by Lisa J. Flickinger

  Leave it alone, Snoop. Preach extended his foot under the table and kicked the bottom of Snoop’s boot

  Snoop jutted his chin, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

  Snoop’s look meant there wouldn’t be any holding him back from what he meant to say.

  “You’ve met her, haven’t you, Miss Franklin, Lou’s niece?”

  Phyllis removed her fork from her mouth. It tinged as she placed it on the corner of her plate. She plucked the napkin from her lap and gently dabbed her lips. “I met Miss Franklin the other day at my sister May’s restaurant when I learned she worked at the camp.”

  “We just found that out ourselves, Mrs. Thorebourne.” Will swallowed the food threatening to spill out of his mouth as he talked. “As you can see by some of our faces, we’ve been down with hand, foot, and mouth.”

  “The knowledge has been circulating the town,” Mr. Thorebourne said. “I’m assuming you boys are no longer contagious.”

  Ernie leaned forward to catch Mr. Thorebourne’s attention. “No, sir, but we weren’t all sick. Preach and Snoop missed out on the experience. The rest of us were sick as dogs for a week, but we’ve been back in the woods for six days now. Preach cleared us to leave the camp.”

  You can stop talkin’, Ernie. Mr. Thorebourne doesn’t need to know all of our business.

  “Are you a doctor, Preach?” Mr. Thorebourne asked.

  Preach was certain Mr. Thorebourne already knew the answer to his question. He probably thought he had to put Preach through his paces, find out if he was good enough for his daughter. It would be rude for Preach to tell him not to bother. He wasn’t interested. “No, sir, but we had a break-out six years ago at Svedberg’s. I was lucky enough to be part of the epidemic. I’m not sure why I missed out this time, but the doc told us then we were safe a week after the blisters stopped forming. I told the boys as much.”

  “Is Joe still going to be able to make his quota?”

  “These boys know how to work hard. We’ll meet our contract.”

  “Mrs. Thorebourne,” Snoop said, “you were saying you’d met Miss Franklin, Lou’s niece.”

  Snoop, for the love of—forgive me, Lord.

  “I was surprised when I learned Joe had hired her.” Mrs. Thorebourne threw Preach a look of warning. “Of course our Josephine doesn’t need to hire out her skill in the kitchen.”

  “I don’t know if you’ve heard,” Snoop said, “but the boss didn’t know he’d hired an assistant cook—until she was discovered.”

  Shut up, Snoop.

  “Oooooo,” Horace howled, “that was something to behold all right, Lou marching into the bunkhouse, wielding her broom, and smacking every limb within hitting distance. It’s a miracle she didn’t break some of them. She threatened us all within an inch of our lives if we so much as looked at Miss Isabelle.”

  Phyllis wrinkled her nose as though she’d smelled last week’s waste. “Lou marched into the bunkhouse?”

  Mrs. Thorebourne’s implication didn’t sit right. Lou had been in the bunkhouse caring for the men, something they were all grateful for. “Lou’s protective of her niece,” Preach said. “None of us would deny that.”

  “Except when it comes to you, Preach,” Snoop said.

  Will stopped halfway into stuffing a large piece of roast beef in his mouth.

  Thorebourne’s home wasn’t the place to settle the quarrel between Preach and Snoop.

  Nor was Preach going to take any more of Josephine’s hand warming his leg under the table. He didn’t want to be in the Thorebourne home in the first place.

  Preach dropped his serviette onto his empty plate. “If you’ll excuse me, ma’am”—he nodded at Phyllis and turned toward their host—“Mr. Thorebourne, I promised Miss Sophie I would take a look at her kitchen sink.” And he had—two weeks ago. “I thank you for the delicious meal and the fine company. Boys, I’ll walk over to the church and pick up the buggy. You can find your way home with the wagon.”

  “But you haven’t had a piece of Josephine’s peach cobbler.” Phyllis rose from her chair at the end of the table.

  Preach forced a smile to his lips. “Thank you both, Mrs. Thorebourne, Josephine. The meal was delicious. I couldn’t fit another bite in if I tried.”

  “Perhaps another time?” Josephine asked.

  No, there won’t be another time. “I know your mother can make a tasty apple dumpling. I’m certain your cobbler is something to look forward to.”

  Josephine’s smile slipped briefly before she rose from her chair. “I’ll see you out.”

  “Please, there’s no need.” Preach turned on his heel to leave the dining room before Josephine could accompany him. He wasn’t going to give her any more opportunity to accost him.

  The screen door whined on its hinges and then snapped closed as Preach left the Thorebourne’s home. Snoop could stir up all the trouble he wanted to, although it wouldn’t be near the entertainment for him if he couldn’t torment Preach.

  Preach couldn’t deny he deserved some of Snoop’s anger. He never should have taken up with Lavinia down at Babby’s. Snoop could carry some of the blame, though. He used to brag in the bunkhouse night after night about his and Lavinia’s exploits.

  It wasn’t as if Lavinia was exclusive. Any man could have her for the right price. Preach thought Snoop would shut up about the woman when he found out Preach and Lavinia had spent the night together. It hadn’t worked out that way, though. Instead, Snoop had taken Preach’s actions as if they had been a declaration of war.

  Preach had apologized to Snoop several times about Lavinia. Preach was sorry. It pained him to think he’d thought so little of a woman that it made sense to get back at another man by using her. Lavinia hadn’t deserved Preach’s disdain. His actions had been more than immoral, they’d been downright mean.

  The thought of what he’d done had kept him up for several nights. One of the reasons he had so little resistance to the speaker when he’d stumbled into the tent meeting at the start of break up. Preach still wasn’t sure how he’d ended up at the front, on his knees, tears running down his face, but he’d never regretted the decision that followed—the decision to give his pathetic life to the Lord.

  Snoop’s constant badgering meant Preach couldn’t forget the kind of man he’d been. It bothered him to no end, but even if Preach deserved Snoop’s hatred, the women around Preach didn’t.

  Fifteen minutes later Preach knocked on Miss Sophie’s front door. One of her tiny hands gripped the cameo at her throat as she opened the polished slab of oak. “Preach, I—we didn’t expect you here so soon.”

  Preach looked over Miss Sophie’s head. Isabelle sat in an overstuffed chair balancing a teacup. Red patches blotted her cheeks beneath swollen lids and damp eyes. She tipped the corners of her mouth up in an unconvincing smile.

  Preach had hoped bringing Isabelle to town, and to church, would restore a real smile to her face. It hadn’t worked.

  “Are you ready to leave?” Isabelle set the teacup aside. “I’ll grab my things.”

  “I told Miss Sophie I would look at her sink.” The task would give the women a few minutes to finish what he’d interrupted.

  “Yes, please,” Sophie said. “I think the piping needs to be tightened. There’s a steady drip when the sink is filled.”

  Preach followed Miss Sophie to the kitchen. She pulled aside the skirt under the sink to reveal a tin pail half full of brownish liquid under the lead trap.

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Preach knelt and slid his hand from the base of the sink to the first coupling. It spun on the pipe as several drops fell into the pail. Whoever had crafted Miss Sophie’s plumbing didn’t tighten the fittings like they should have. Preach would have to take a look in the back shed. Miss Sophie had mentioned it was where her husband had kept a few tools. Even though he’d died years ago, she’d said she hadn’t had the heart to dispose of them.

  Dust motes speckled the air in the slice of sunlight from
the side window of the shed. The building smelled of damp earth and old grease. Preach opened the lid of the pine tool chest sitting on a battered table where screwdrivers of mixed sizes lay in neat rows in the top tray. Sophie’s husband had loved these tools—surprising for a banker. Lifting the tray, Preach revealed another layer of larger tools and the pipe wrench needed to tighten the coupling.

  As Preach let Miss Sophie’s back door close, he thought he heard Will’s voice in the parlor. He crossed the kitchen only to see Will and Isabelle leaving through the front door.

  “Isabelle, wait,” he said, stepping into the parlor.

  Miss Sophie reached out and tugged the corner of his sleeve. “Let her go, Preach.”

  “Why is she leaving with the boys?”

  “Will said Phyllis couldn’t wait to be rid of the rest of them after you left. Josephine gave him this to give to you.” She lifted a small paper box from the table. “He didn’t think it would last the journey.”

  “But why is Isabelle leaving with the boys?”

  “Will asked, and”—Miss Sophie shrugged—“she’s troubled, son.”

  He and Isabelle had agreed to be friends. Why was she running from him? Preach stared at the box. He would rather eat that than the peach cobbler it most likely held.

  Chapter 13

  Isabelle stepped through the door and shuffled to the side allowing three young women, their heads bent in chatter, to enter the Stony Creek Chapel ahead of her. She missed Kittie, the secrets they spoke in Isabelle’s second-story bedroom, the inevitable giggling fits as they prepared for a ball and compared their looks before her gilded mirror. The many things they had shared—before Daniel.

  The church pews had been moved to line the exterior walls. Isabelle’s heart sped its thumping as she studied the groups of four to five women sitting around tables set in front of the pews. The arrangement left an open area in the center of the room.

  Why had Isabelle agreed to attend? The invitation from Josephine to join the Thursday afternoon event had come as a surprise. The boss had relayed the message after the mail run on Tuesday and offered a ride to town with Carl, a logger from “way back” as he put it, who often did errands for Joe. Carl had dropped Isabelle off at the church for a couple of hours while he picked up supplies.

  Joe’s kindness had left Aunt Lou to do most of the supper preparations back at the camp. Since the conversation in Joe’s office, her aunt had appeared resigned to his decision that Isabelle could remain at Pollitt’s Lumber. Under Aunt Lou’s tutelage, Isabelle had become quite proficient at the many tasks required each day and they’d cooked and baked their way to an affable companionship. Aunt Lou had been the one to encourage Isabelle to get out of the kitchen for the afternoon and to meet some of the other women in the community.

  “Isabelle, I’m so happy to see you decided to join us.” Josephine crossed the wood floor toward Isabelle, arms outstretched, a smile of polished even teeth.

  Josephine wore a blue silk dress with generous brown bows at the waist and neck and included a delicate braided trim dotted with gemstones. The braid outlined the bodice and trailed down the skirt in two smooth lines. The dress, although beautiful, was more suited to an evening walk on the boardwalk than an afternoon of preparing crafts for the upcoming community fair.

  Isabelle closed her eyes as Josephine crushed Isabelle’s cheek against the white lace of her placket in a firm hug. The gesture was extreme considering Josephine had barely acknowledged Isabelle’s presence at Sunday’s service. Perhaps Josephine appreciated Isabelle’s withdrawing from the offer to attend lunch at the Thorebourne home with Preach and the others.

  The boys had raved about Josephine’s cooking on the journey back to the camp. Perley’s thorough description of the Thorebournes’ impressive residence would explain Josephine’s fancy wardrobe but not Preach’s reluctance regarding the girl.

  Maybe he’d changed his mind about Josephine since Sunday’s lunch. Isabelle wouldn’t know, she hadn’t spoken to Preach since fleeing Miss Sophie’s home with Will.

  “Come with me.” Josephine linked her fingers through Isabelle’s.

  Miss Sophie popped up from her chair at the nearest table, where the women were stitching and stuffing pincushions shaped like various birds and animals. “Isabelle, sit with me. I saved you a seat when I heard you were coming.”

  The small town didn’t keep many secrets. “I’d be pleased to, Miss Sophie.”

  “Nonsense, Miss Isabelle, you already know Miss Sophie. Come with me and meet my friend Iva.”

  Miss Sophie clutched at the familiar shell cameo at her throat and wrinkled her brow. “We can sit together at tea, dear.”

  Josephine led Isabelle to a table where four ladies were twisting and knotting narrow ribbons of assorted colors into elaborate hair ornaments. Two completed examples nestled on a length of navy velvet running down the center of the table. One was comprised of pleated and braided ribbon in a dark burgundy with a silver bell at its center, and another was made of knotted grosgrain ribbon in light blue, a yellow pompom at its tip.

  Isabelle’s skills in the kitchen might be wanting, and her embroidery might be lackluster, but years of doing handicrafts with her mother would come in useful for the afternoon’s activities.

  “Ladies,” Josephine said, “please welcome this afternoon’s special guest. I’m sure you will make her feel welcome.”

  Special guest? Isabelle was only attending to help out and perhaps meet some new friends. Her stomach roiled. “I don’t—”

  “Iva.” Josephine urged her toward the table. “This is Isabelle Franklin”

  Iva cocked her head, and a drape of blond ringlets fell over one shoulder. She twitched her delicate, upturned nose before replying. “Nice to meet you, Isabelle. This is my Aunt Rose and my cousin Betty.”

  The two women greeted Isabelle, and Josephine excused herself to go and see to another table’s needs.

  Iva nodded to the empty chair next to her own. “Please, take a seat. Ribbon hair ornaments sold like hotcakes at the Eagle Lake bazaar, and we’re hoping they will sell the same here on Saturday. Have you made them before?”

  Isabelle picked up the blue-and-yellow design from the velvet. A four-pronged comb was stitched to its back. “No, but I’ve done a lot of handwork with my mother. These are beautiful.” They might even replace the boater hat as the church’s next fashion accessory.

  “I made this one,” Iva said, plucking the ornament from Isabelle and returning it to the table. “Pick your ribbon colors, and I’ll get you started.”

  Isabelle chose two tones of brown ribbon from the table, and Iva snipped them to length before giving a brief lesson on the methods of looping and knotting.

  The color would go well with Isabelle’s best dress. Perhaps she could convince one of the men to drive her to town for the Saturday afternoon fair, and she could purchase her own work in support of the stained glass windows for the church.

  She wouldn’t ask Preach. She missed him and the letters he no longer sent, but he’d made his opinion known—more than once.

  Isabelle snugged several folds of ribbon together before knotting them onto a comb. Betty glanced over and opened her mouth to speak, but Iva threw her a look, and Betty bent her head to her work, nimbly tucking and knotting. The women continued working for fifteen minutes without saying a word.

  Isabelle peeked at the next table, where the women were crocheting white and ecru lace wide enough to be used as cuffs for a blouse or a dress. One of the women was regaling the others with a story involving bloomers on a clothesline and a billygoat.

  If only Isabelle were sitting at that table, or with Miss Sophie. It was hard to make friends if no one talked. “These hair ornaments are so pretty. How did you come up with the designs?”

  Iva didn’t lift her head as she responded. “We found patterns in the Ladies Home Journal, most likely the same ones used by the ladies in Eagle Lake.”

  “And the lace patterns at th
e next table?”

  Iva huffed and dropped her ornament to her lap. “The same. The Ladies Home Journal.”

  “My mother receives the journal every month and reads it from cover to cover,” Isabelle said.

  “What civilized home doesn’t?” Iva tugged on a knot before picking up the scissors and deftly snipping a thread.

  Why was Iva so hostile? Josephine didn’t blame Isabelle for last Sunday’s luncheon debacle. Rightly so, the blame was all Preach’s.

  Isabelle continued silently knotting and twisting ribbon with the other women until ten finished ornaments rested on the strip of velvet lining the center of the table.

  As Isabelle kneaded her fingers to release some of the cramping, Josephine strode to the center of the room and clapped twice. “Ladies, it’s time for us to break for tea. I’m so glad to hear your merry chatter as you prepare items for the church’s booth at Saturday’s fair. The new windows will be a wonderful feature in our sanctuary.”

  Josephine had not returned to Isabelle’s table, where there had been no chatter at all, let alone merry chatter.

  “Ladies,” Josephine added, make a circle with your chairs in the center of the room. Mother and I have made some delightful cookies for our tea time.”

  Isabelle excused herself from the table and slid into the chair next to Miss Sophie’s. Fine china teacups were placed on one of the tables, decorated sugar cookies, ginger cookies, and cinnamon jumbles rested on delicately flowered plates.

  “Josephine and her mother are such amazing cooks,” Isabelle whispered in Miss Sophie’s ear.

  “Phyllis and her sister have fed the community for years,” Miss Sophie said. “I’ve never heard that Josephine took after Phyllis.”

  “The boys from the camp said they couldn’t get enough of her beef gravy on Sunday and her peach cobbler was delicious.”

  “I agree, the cobbler was delicious.”

  “How did you—?”

  “Preach said he wasn’t hungry. He gave his portion of the cobbler to me. I ate it over two days, the piece was so large.”